Clark/Lex Fic: Fourth of July Recluse - Part 4
Last part:
Last Time:
If it made Clark happy, he’d spend a small fortune for the nineteen-year-old to play game after game all afternoon.
****
Six game booths, sixty-eight dollars, and several hours later, Lex was standing in front of the booth clutching onto a five-foot buttercup yellow teddy bear with triumph. He smirked widely, thrusting it at Clark, who grabbed onto it automatically with his left arm as he fumbled with the mini red and black Chicago Bulls basketball he’d been spinning on his right forefinger.
“Hey!” Clark griped, hand moving clumsily as he tried to clasp onto the basketball. He looked down at the teddy bear in bewilderment, but trotted after Lex as he saw him move away.
Lex weaved his way through the thickening crowds, the sun lowering on the horizon, people starting to mill around and visit with each other as the afternoon drew to a close and the dinner hour began. Many people were hitting the food booths and trailers, which reminded Lex that it had been a couple of hours since Clark’s last feeding, but the longer lines did not induce him to suggest on his own that they eat.
“Lex,” Clark said reproachfully, a small frown on his face as he finally caught up. “What was that for?”
Lex chuckled, eyes scanning the crowd unconsciously, taking in all the details and faces. “What do you think?”
“Huh?”
Lex looked over at Clark, blue eyes focused on his face, as he continued in an even voice. “Clark. I didn’t spend twenty-three dollars so I could have a teddy bear that’s almost as large as you.”
“You didn’t?” Clark asked, confused. “Then how come…”
Green eyes flicked down to the teddy bear in question, expression intent. He glanced back up, making sure he wasn’t going to run anyone down, and glanced back down. He looked at his own arm clasping the bear tightly, and his eyes popped up to look at Lex. “Oh!”
“Oh,” Lex echoed, a soft tease to his voice.
Lex watched as surprise flitted through Clark’s eyes, quickly followed by affront, annoyance, contemplation, and finally settling on warm affection. However Clark’s voice was cautiously reproachful.
“I’m not a girl.”
“Believe me, Clark, I’ve noticed.” A slow body scan had Clark stumbling. Lex reached out, his hand wrapped around an elbow, steadying Clark. He used his other hand to reach up to clasp Clark firmly on the shoulder, his thumb briefly caressing Clark’s neck. Clark’s breath hitched slightly, but Lex only dropped his hands away from him when it was apparent Clark wasn’t going to trip.
Lex took a step backwards and continued in a low voice. “Consider it a souvenir from today. If you want to stick it in your closet or your attic or even on your bed…” He trailed off, considering, eyes focused on Clark’s face. He gave a small smirk, dropping his voice even lower, barely loud enough for Clark to hear. “…well, I was under the impression it’s one of the great American traditions in attending these sorts of things.”
“Teddy bears?” Clark asked faintly.
The smirk grew bigger, and Lex took a step back into Clark’s personal space. He touched the top of the bear’s head lightly, his hand just brushing against a hard chest. “Not specifically. Large furry, cuddly toys. And…significant others.”
“Oh,” Clark breathed softly, eyes widening.
Lex held the green-eyed boy’s gaze for a moment, waiting until he heard the boy’s breath hitch, before turning around. He touched the small of Clark’s back lightly, nudging him forward. Ever obedient, Clark moved. He loped along, picking up speed, suddenly energized again.
“What do you want to do next?”
Lex shrugged lightly at the question. “It’s your day. Whatever you’d like. You’re the expert in Smallville Fourth of July traditions.”
“Don’t you want to do anything?” Clark shot back, his question tinged with anxiety.
“As long as I’m with you, I know I’ll enjoy myself.”
Clark gave him an accessing look, and whatever he found, it caused his eyes to dart to the ground. Almost shyly. “Oh.”
They walked along silently, both absorbed in their own thoughts. Finally, Lex broke the silence. “Did you want to go on any rides?”
Clark perked up, his lips tugging up, but then abruptly his face froze. Instead, he gave a half-hearted shrug.
“We could go on some rides, then go eat dinner somewhere. It’ll be at least four or five before the fireworks.”
Another small shrug, Clark’s eyes pinned on the ground, following Lex’s feet.
Lex tried again. “I know you won’t want to miss them.”
Clark mumbled, “Why don’t we go eat now?”
That was a surprise. Clark had been casting glances at the rides section of the carnival throughout the entire afternoon. “I thought you wanted to go on the Tilt-a-Whirl?”
Clark jerked his head up, shock flashing across his face.
It was Lex’s turn to shrug. “I saw you look over at it at least four times today.”
Hunched shoulders were the only answer he got. Lex looked around, the increasing crowds becoming even more of an annoyance. He grabbed Clark’s elbow, soft fluff pressing into the backs of his fingers, and he tugged Clark behind a closed up booth.
He didn’t see anyone around, the area behind the row of booths extending out into empty, unused space. Further beyond that were rows of parked cars. Lex didn’t take any chances though. He turned Clark towards the back wall of the booth, his body facing Clark and blocking anyone who might be sitting out in their car.
He reached up, lightly touching Clark’s cheek. “Hey. What’s going on?”
Clark shook his head, his eyes still finding the ground fascinating. He mumbled, “Nothin’.”
The small frown on those pretty lips made Lex frown in return. He moved his hand slightly, tipping Clark’s chin up. “This doesn’t look like nothing.”
Another small shrug was his reply.
Lex felt a scowl wanting to darken his face, but years of mastering his expression kept his growing unease and ire hidden under a mask of calm pleasantness. Nevertheless, he couldn’t hide the concern threading his tone. “Clark. What’s wrong?”
Something tightened in Lex, his chest hurting, as Clark’s eyes grew wide and his eyes darted around like he was looking for something. His nostrils flared just the slightest, accompanied by a minute twitch of Clark’s body that just about anyone would miss other than Lex Luthor.
Lex Luthor. The man who’d made Clark Watching into a spectator’s sport, achieving a persistence and intensity worthy of a gold medal. He knew just about all of Clark’s mannerisms, expressions, and body language. Could accurately predict 99.3 percent of the time what mood Clark was in just by watching the boy, often being able to predict what he was about to say or do to a certain extent just by the circumstances, Clark’s current topic of conversation, and body language.
Wide, darting eyes. Slightly flared nostrils. Body twitch like the boy was unconsciously flinching from being hit. Guilt and nervousness quivering under Clark’s skin like a horse run too long and hard.
Next would come the tightening of the jaw, the small muscle in the jaw ticking just the tiniest bit, as if the kid was preparing himself to lie. Strengthening himself internally or maybe putting up walls so it wouldn’t hurt so much.
Clark really wasn’t a good liar.
Nor was he meant to lie. Lex often thought Clark hurt something in himself each time, some unseen wound growing deeper with each uttered falsehood. It made Lex wonder: if he could see Clark’s soul, would it be bleeding?
Lex placed his forefinger on top of Clark’s lips, sealing the lie in. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be a reason for Clark to bleed. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said quietly. “We’ll do whatever you want. Wherever you want. Say the word and we’re out of here.”
Clark’s lips twitched, but the teenager remained silent, eyes looking over Lex like Lex held all the answers in the world, only those eyes seemed to be frustrated because he didn’t understand the language. Lex stayed still, allowing Clark to see whatever he wanted, slightly distracted by the soft lips under his finger.
He lifted his finger, letting the fingertips of his hand move up instead. Ghosting along the high prominent slash of a cheekbone. Brief touch along a temple, pressing an errant strand back. Fingers itching to play in soft raven tresses, but moving back to slide along the soft expanse of cheek. Brief pause in the little hollow where he knew a shallow dimple would wink if a particular smile graced the magnificent features.
Face of an angel.
With a matching soul. Even if it did bleed red from having to live the imperfect life of mankind.
Lex looked down from fingers, noticing for the first time that his other hand was gripping Clark’s right arm in a bruising grip. He forced himself to loosen the grip, rubbing the spot softly with his thumb before dropping his hand. He looked back up, his right hand still caressing Clark’s cheek, and let that one drop, too, falling onto the head of the teddy bear Clark had clutched in a death grip.
Wounded eyes the color of river water, murky and deep. The same river water Lex drowned in, which was appropriate, because Lex could so easily drown in that gaze.
Not quite sure if it would mean the rebirth of his soul or its death. Suspected deep down that he really didn’t care which. Not when it came to those bewitching eyes and the face and soul of one who could only be a fallen angel. Lex wasn’t quite so sure why he rated a celestial intervention, or perhaps nod of favor, from a higher deity.
As an atheist, his overly romantic twists of fancy often disturbed him when it came to Clark Kent.
Besides, even if he were to suddenly find religion, he had to admit that Clark as an angel was preposterous. The whole package, inside and out, was like a specifically designed, personally-made-for-Alexander-Luthor trap of temptation all wrapped up in the ribbons of salvation. How one boy could be both was beyond Lex. And until today, he’d done a very successful job at avoiding that temptation.
Lex softly stroked the soft fur of the teddy bear, ignoring those wounded, sad eyes. “Why don’t we stop off at Grandpa Joe’s?”
Odd name, Lex had no idea if there really was a Grandpa Joe, but the restaurant had incredible steaks. Some protein would be good to balance out all the sugar Clark had ingested today. He could already hear the argument they’d have when he insisted that Clark have a steak instead of a hamburger, but he knew Clark would cave.
Clark usually did, unless the matter was life or death.
Lex sometimes wondered if that was why Lana went back to the Quarterback. Other than the whole local football-god-made-war-hero epic saga. Lana had issues---‘who didn’t?’ his mind pointed out---but she seemed to simultaneously want to be the one dictating the relationship, setting all the rules and parameters, yet also seemed to want an alpha male type who would make decisions and do the whole protect-and-guide-the-princess-with-a-strong-hand shtick.
Not to mention Clark’s reputation for being unreliable, flighty, and forgetful. The kid was infamous for disappearing all the time, dates and meetings forgotten easily and often, a lame excuse offered when asked. His schoolmates either seemed to be completely unaware of his existence, or they completely tolerated his existence as the school misfit and class goof. Chloe had said more than once in Lex’s presence that Clark was high maintenance, competing neck in neck with Lana for that dubious honor.
Lex had his own suspicions about those disappearances, not surprised that Clark hadn’t been able to keep an after school job when he was undependable. Places of business didn’t allow for the ‘showing up when I have time’ philosophy of work ethics. And he had to cede to Chloe that Clark was extremely high maintenance, even at the status of friend, but he felt that the friendship was well worth the occasional headache or night of serious drinking.
The friendship was worth anything. Even swallowing Clark’s lies. Clark’s distrust. Clark’s air of loneliness and pain. If Clark didn’t want anyone seeing those things, then Lex could pretend to be blind.
So he stroked the soft fur, the color of daffodils and bright as Clark’s smile, and said nothing. Saw nothing. And was shocked when he heard Clark’s pained whisper.
“I can’t.”
His eyes shot up, the ragged voice tearing at his equilibrium. Lex devoured Clark’s face, his gaze missing nothing. Mouth open slightly as the teenager breathed in and out with shallow, jerky breaths. Jaw loose, face open, like everything was shining from the inside out. Nothing hiding. No lies just lurking under the surface.
But it was the eyes that caused his pulse to pick up, heart thrumming in his ears. Spikes of fear and hope battling for dominance in those magnificent orbs. Trust fighting for life, blossoming slowly like a flower drinking in the sun.
Trust having to be earned? Bullshit. Trust was a leap of faith. Every. Fucking. Time. Because no matter how much you think you know a person, no matter what they say or what they do, you never really know them. Not really. People spent decades living with someone to find out they never knew them. Sentient beings were creatures of change, rarely ever remaining stagnant and static. Often layered, with hidden depths and dreams. Unknown.
Trusting someone was to trust someone blindly. Past. Present. Future. All the unknowns and all the doubts. Ignoring the baggage of the one you trust and the baggage you carried yourself.
Fuck Kierkegaard. God as a leap of faith? Try something closer to home that could slice a person’s insides to ribbon. Like trust. Which opened the doorways to friendship. And love.
The universe have mercy on the poor soul who found all three bound up in one person.
Lex shuddered to think that poor schmuck might be him.
As much as Lex hated being lied to, he had to admit there were two strong reasons he never pushed that hard for the truth. One, Clark’s friendship was more important, and he accepted the silent conditions it came with. Two, as long as Clark didn’t trust him, he didn’t fully trust Clark. Which left him with a backdoor to exit through when it came to both the friendship and the overwhelming love he felt for Clark.
He’d learned the hard way to always have a backdoor for when things collapsed. Nothing was permanent. Granted, he was only twenty-four going on twenty-five, but he’d yet to experience any one thing that was.
Well, okay, Lionel was so far, in a bastardly controlling father sort of way, but Lex was almost positive---and exceedingly grateful---that not even Lionel Luthor was immortal. Besides, there had been those couple of days he’d been tossed out of the castle and disowned during the Lucas debacle, which made his father almost impermanent.
So it was with a sense of impending doom mixed with a heady dose of exhilaration and triumph that Lex kept his gaze fixed on Clark’s eyes and face, the exquisite sight of pain and hope etched like tattoos on pretty-boy features.
It was almost disturbing how exquisite Clark looked when he was in pain. As if those angelic features were transcending their earthly beauty into something heavenly and pure.
With doom thundering a beat in the back of his head, hope burning bright and hot in his heart, Lex looked at Clark and asked, “You can’t what?”
Clark paused, indecision freezing his features, and after a silence that felt like a physical weight he spoke in that same ragged whisper. “I can’t. Go on the rides.”
Pupils dilated into huge wells of blackness, eyes wild and shadowed with something Lex might have called freedom, Clark continued. “I…too strong. My parents…when I was little…I broke a safety bar. The attendant thought it was due to poor maintenance checks and shut down the ride. Mom and Dad…I can’t. They said I can’t. Anymore.”
And with those broken phrases, fear pulsing in each pause, Lex felt something inside break free. Inside he felt like Clark’s eyes. Wild and free. Yet simultaneously, he could swear he heard the click as the doors of the cage wrapped around his heart closed and locked. Maybe even around his soul. If he still had one.
He reached up slowly, hand lifting off yellow fluff, and clasped the side of Clark’s neck. Felt the racing pulse under this thumb. Moved up just enough to stroke the same thumb along a smooth jaw. A random thought broke out, stupid voice wondering how often Clark shaved.
A louder voice drowning out his inner idiot and pointing out that Clark finally trusted him. Was finally ready to stop lying. To tell the truth. The truths that had been staring Lex in the face since he’d crashed into a fifteen-year-old on a bridge with the most amazing green eyes, an apology on his lips as he’d looked into the face of the boy he was about to kill.
Only he didn’t.
And Clark wasn’t lying.
And contrarily, suddenly it wasn’t important. All the hidden truths. Whether Lex found out all the answers to the questions that had been piling up one after another exponentially over the years. There was satisfaction in knowing that he would know in time, that curiosity would be quenched, knowledge would be shared. Trust would be exchanged and given.
Trust.
Lex stepped forward, not caring whether anyone walked in on them or not, ignored the basketball poking into one side and the teddy bear lining the other, and kissed Clark gently on the lips.
Softly. Chastely. Sweet and light as the summer rain.
Sweet and light as Clark Kent.
He moved his head back a few inches, close enough that he and Clark breathed the same air, their eyes pinned to each other as if there was no other object in the world worth looking at.
He wondered in the back of his mind when exactly he’d threaded his fingers into Clark’s hair, grip both gentle and strong.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
Clark shuddered, not saying a word. Only nodded as he met Lex gaze for gaze.
“You trust me.”
A statement. Not a question. Though Clark nodded anyway.
“I love you.”
Clark was trembling now, Lex’s declaration hanging in the air. Lex moved in even closer, Clark unconsciously spreading his legs so Lex could step into strong thighs. Pretty man-child sinking slightly as he collapsed into Lex, face buried into Lex’s neck, arms still clutching at the won toys. Clark leaned into Lex, pressing body to body as he trembled and seeking comfort.
Lex whispered into the nearest ear, “We don’t have to do this now.”
He pressed a soft kiss to the delicate-appearing shell and whispered again. “I’ll love you no matter what you tell me. I promise.”
Lex spent the next ten minutes stroking Clark’s hair, holding him close. No tears fell on his skin, only soft warm breaths. Lex reminded himself of the earlier tears, of what an emotional roller coaster the last twelve hours had been for the recent graduate.
Clark had always been sensitive. His feelings easily hurt, his emotions so much more stronger and passionate, as if he felt them with every molecule of his body.
Not that Clark was a crier. He’d only seen Clark cry twice before today. Once when Ryan died, when he’d still been a sixteen-year-old kid who’d never experienced the death of a loved one. Dived into Lex’s arms, as if it was his only refuge, tears raining down. Again when Lana broke up with him, telling Clark she was going to date Whitney. Meaning to be kind, but more cruel than not when she said Clark deserved someone who could love him. Listing all the reasons why they didn’t work, but Clark hearing why he wasn’t enough.
Lex walked into the aftermath of that one. Clark crumpled on the floor of his loft near his window, a ball of misery and noisy tears and harsh gasps. The sobs shaking him so hard and coming so fast, he’d had a hard time gasping for breath between the low raspy wails.
Crying as if his heart had broken. Like a little kid sobs when they’re completely shattered or utterly terrified.
Looking back, maybe it was both.
Lex didn’t need to be a psychologist to know that one of Clark’s deepest fears was that he would end up alone. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Lana had symbolized two things since Clark had been a child: normalcy and a connection. Thus the shiny bright future he’d dreamed of Princess Lana and White Knight Clark being together. Not alone.
The day Clark’s childhood dreams shattered, Lex had stood at the top of the stairs, frozen, uncertain what to do. Wanting to comfort but not knowing how, and yet wanting to leave as sharp points of discomfort and uncertainty poked at him. Had done neither, because Clark had somehow known, lifting his head to look at Lex with big eyes, tears streaming down, face red and splotchy, caught in that tug of war for breath between the wails and gasps. A tiny whimper had broken out as shame had flooded that face, and Lex had somehow been kneeling at Clark’s side in the next instant.
He wouldn’t discount teleportation, except he knew there was no way he was going to be gifted with an ability that cool. Healing really sucked, unless you were Wolverine and also had an adamantium skeleton and razor sharp retractable claws that screamed ‘Bad Ass’.
Teleportation questions aside, that day his arms had gone around Clark, perhaps a body memory from the hospital. Clark burying his head in Lex’s stomach as he cried and cried. Wept more tears than Lex knew a person had in them, and Lex just rocked back and forth, stroking Clark’s hair and back, speaking in a soft, sure voice on how it would get better. That everything would be all right.
Third time now. This morning. Still not sure what had happened, and Lex could only guess that it had to do with a perceived rejection. Perhaps the old fears of being alone or unwanted. Maybe new fears he was unaware of.
Not that he really knew the crying habits of Clark Kent. It wasn’t like Clark only cried when Lex made a timely appearance. It was possible Clark cried twice a week and Lex wouldn’t know it, but he was fairly confident with his assessment that Clark rarely cried. He envied the ease that Clark wept, unapologetic and unreservedly, the hand of Martha showing as the brunette showed an impressive level of comfort in his own display of grief and heartache.
And even if Clark wasn’t crying now, the kid was still sensitive. Still easily hurt. Heart too big for his own good. Upset at the spilling of secrets that Lex knew had been weighing Clark down ever since he’d first met him, that first lie uttered on the riverbank in the form of a question, the shape of misdirection. Lies that ate at Clark’s heart and soul.
Angels weren’t meant to lie, and if ever there was a creature closer to being an angel, it was Clark.
So Lex held him close, whispering nonsensical words into his ears, hands holding him tight. And despite Lex’s best efforts to shush and comfort, to tell Clark it could wait, Lex thinking privately that it would be best to wait for a time when Clark was less emotionally vulnerable than this day that seemed to be twisting Clark into knots, Clark whispered back. Voice low and shaky. A fairy tale of the best and worst kind.
Of a shower of rocks from outer space, silent sentinels to an alien child cocooned in a metal pod that was his bassinet. Of adoptive parents, hidden on the farm like a shameful secret throughout the elementary years, homeschooled so rules could be ingrained about never telling, fears established of how telling would lead to being taken away. So strength could be out of sight until it could be mastered.
Childhood playmate Pete, the Rosses friends since the Kent-Ross football years, was the boy’s only regular playmate and friend. Next came school, and shortly thereafter, Chloe. Occasionally Greg and a few other misfits who they played with on and off the playground. Friends who couldn’t know the truth because he could never tell or else someone would steal him away.
Not understanding why he was different. Until the whispers at school. Of teachers and classmates. About children and adults who were different. Sometimes relatives, the black sheep of the family. Sometimes rumors, of sighted peculiarities or gossip from the hospital on unusual patients. Sometimes rumors on disappearances or bizarre deaths. The only thing they all had in common was the hushed horror describing the people. All strange. Freaks.
His own freakishness growing throughout the years. Skin toughening through the years, strength and speed increasing incrementally along with his skin in a process so gradual it was barely noticed. Until a boy came hurling at him in a silver-blue Porsche, hitting him on a bridge. Saving the boy, shocked and stunned to be alive.
Finding out the truth, forcing the parents’ hands with blades and tattered flannel. Alien. Not human. Alone. Not one of the whispered ones that no one spoke about aloud. Never had he felt more like an orphan, the adopted kid, the outsider who didn’t belong.
The misfit who didn’t even fit in with the misfits.
It all spilled out in a whispered confession. Greg. Tina. Coach Walt. Mutant after mutant. Humans like Phelan and Nixon. Everyone died around him. If not because of the meteor shower, then it was the meteor rocks and mutations. Or it was corrupt people, normal humans, grasping for power. Their only commonality was Clark and death.
Blood so thick on his hands he dreamed of it at night. The smell and feel all around him, the taste sharp and metallic in his mouth. Or he dreamed of a graveyard full of names, Clark standing alone. Unchanging. Eternally the same. Alone.
Powers. Abilities. Fire. X-ray. The unexplained floating that happened that one time. Senses increasingly getting stronger. Strength and speed still accelerating. Red rocks and green rocks. Cruelty and pain. His only legacy, his silent companions that rained death on a town. That still brought death to the town.
Scared. Terrified of what he was becoming. Of the monster he might turn into.
Guilty. Friends that would leave if they found out. Possibly tell, and he would be taken away. More scared that they’d look at him in disgust or fear. Look at him like he was an animal. So many lies, years of deception, he didn’t know how to tell the truth anymore. Wasn’t even sure what the truth was.
Ashamed. Not human. Freak. Monster. Not even aware of what he is. Raised to be human, seeing himself as human, only to find out that he’d not. Hate, hate, hate his parents for the lies. For the biggest deception of all. Only to be flooded with guilt. A whole ocean of guilt.
They took him in. Like a stray. And now he was ungrateful. A bad son. A poor substitute for the child they’d prayed for and never received. Empty womb. Just Clark.
A fairy tale of the best and worst kind.
No happy endings. No clear morals. No definite path or quests to achieve. Just a lost boy who wasn’t even a real boy.
Except there was Lex.
And Clark whispered that Lex couldn’t leave him. That Lex couldn’t hate him, or be scared of him, or send him away. Otherwise he would die. Just curl up and die, die, die.
Pleaded with him not to leave. To not go away. Because Lex was everything. Lex was the only one who understood. Who knew what it was like. To be alone. To be different. To be unique and feel the coldness that word bestowed.
Throughout it all, Lex just held Clark. Silent. Not saying a word as years of secrets and pain spilled out. A deluge of boxed up emotions and fears, not even shared with his parents. Because his parents were the only ones he was allowed to talk to, and they were the ones he hid from the most. Hiding himself, trying to be the son they wanted. The son they deserved. Even if it meant being someone else.
And when Clark was done, they stood pressed together. Lex’s hands petting Clark’s hair and Clark’s nape. The small basketball and teddy bear long dropped, Clark’s arms wrapped around Lex’s waist in a tight hold. Lex stayed silent, and when Clark seemed finished pulling himself together, the fear either dissipated or hidden away, Lex tugged his head up. He pressed a kiss to a dry cheek, looked into clear eyes that hadn’t shed a tear, and calmly stated, “I still love you.”
Clark wept for the second time that day.
*****
END
(Followed by “Fourth of July Rhapsody”, 3rd in the Fourth of July Rebirth Series)
For anyone wondering: "FoJ Rhapsody" has been written. I'm not really sure how I feel about it, as I deviated from the singular POV that I used in the first two. I'll most likely get it posted next week, depending on how editing/proofing goes.
Last Time:
If it made Clark happy, he’d spend a small fortune for the nineteen-year-old to play game after game all afternoon.
****
Six game booths, sixty-eight dollars, and several hours later, Lex was standing in front of the booth clutching onto a five-foot buttercup yellow teddy bear with triumph. He smirked widely, thrusting it at Clark, who grabbed onto it automatically with his left arm as he fumbled with the mini red and black Chicago Bulls basketball he’d been spinning on his right forefinger.
“Hey!” Clark griped, hand moving clumsily as he tried to clasp onto the basketball. He looked down at the teddy bear in bewilderment, but trotted after Lex as he saw him move away.
Lex weaved his way through the thickening crowds, the sun lowering on the horizon, people starting to mill around and visit with each other as the afternoon drew to a close and the dinner hour began. Many people were hitting the food booths and trailers, which reminded Lex that it had been a couple of hours since Clark’s last feeding, but the longer lines did not induce him to suggest on his own that they eat.
“Lex,” Clark said reproachfully, a small frown on his face as he finally caught up. “What was that for?”
Lex chuckled, eyes scanning the crowd unconsciously, taking in all the details and faces. “What do you think?”
“Huh?”
Lex looked over at Clark, blue eyes focused on his face, as he continued in an even voice. “Clark. I didn’t spend twenty-three dollars so I could have a teddy bear that’s almost as large as you.”
“You didn’t?” Clark asked, confused. “Then how come…”
Green eyes flicked down to the teddy bear in question, expression intent. He glanced back up, making sure he wasn’t going to run anyone down, and glanced back down. He looked at his own arm clasping the bear tightly, and his eyes popped up to look at Lex. “Oh!”
“Oh,” Lex echoed, a soft tease to his voice.
Lex watched as surprise flitted through Clark’s eyes, quickly followed by affront, annoyance, contemplation, and finally settling on warm affection. However Clark’s voice was cautiously reproachful.
“I’m not a girl.”
“Believe me, Clark, I’ve noticed.” A slow body scan had Clark stumbling. Lex reached out, his hand wrapped around an elbow, steadying Clark. He used his other hand to reach up to clasp Clark firmly on the shoulder, his thumb briefly caressing Clark’s neck. Clark’s breath hitched slightly, but Lex only dropped his hands away from him when it was apparent Clark wasn’t going to trip.
Lex took a step backwards and continued in a low voice. “Consider it a souvenir from today. If you want to stick it in your closet or your attic or even on your bed…” He trailed off, considering, eyes focused on Clark’s face. He gave a small smirk, dropping his voice even lower, barely loud enough for Clark to hear. “…well, I was under the impression it’s one of the great American traditions in attending these sorts of things.”
“Teddy bears?” Clark asked faintly.
The smirk grew bigger, and Lex took a step back into Clark’s personal space. He touched the top of the bear’s head lightly, his hand just brushing against a hard chest. “Not specifically. Large furry, cuddly toys. And…significant others.”
“Oh,” Clark breathed softly, eyes widening.
Lex held the green-eyed boy’s gaze for a moment, waiting until he heard the boy’s breath hitch, before turning around. He touched the small of Clark’s back lightly, nudging him forward. Ever obedient, Clark moved. He loped along, picking up speed, suddenly energized again.
“What do you want to do next?”
Lex shrugged lightly at the question. “It’s your day. Whatever you’d like. You’re the expert in Smallville Fourth of July traditions.”
“Don’t you want to do anything?” Clark shot back, his question tinged with anxiety.
“As long as I’m with you, I know I’ll enjoy myself.”
Clark gave him an accessing look, and whatever he found, it caused his eyes to dart to the ground. Almost shyly. “Oh.”
They walked along silently, both absorbed in their own thoughts. Finally, Lex broke the silence. “Did you want to go on any rides?”
Clark perked up, his lips tugging up, but then abruptly his face froze. Instead, he gave a half-hearted shrug.
“We could go on some rides, then go eat dinner somewhere. It’ll be at least four or five before the fireworks.”
Another small shrug, Clark’s eyes pinned on the ground, following Lex’s feet.
Lex tried again. “I know you won’t want to miss them.”
Clark mumbled, “Why don’t we go eat now?”
That was a surprise. Clark had been casting glances at the rides section of the carnival throughout the entire afternoon. “I thought you wanted to go on the Tilt-a-Whirl?”
Clark jerked his head up, shock flashing across his face.
It was Lex’s turn to shrug. “I saw you look over at it at least four times today.”
Hunched shoulders were the only answer he got. Lex looked around, the increasing crowds becoming even more of an annoyance. He grabbed Clark’s elbow, soft fluff pressing into the backs of his fingers, and he tugged Clark behind a closed up booth.
He didn’t see anyone around, the area behind the row of booths extending out into empty, unused space. Further beyond that were rows of parked cars. Lex didn’t take any chances though. He turned Clark towards the back wall of the booth, his body facing Clark and blocking anyone who might be sitting out in their car.
He reached up, lightly touching Clark’s cheek. “Hey. What’s going on?”
Clark shook his head, his eyes still finding the ground fascinating. He mumbled, “Nothin’.”
The small frown on those pretty lips made Lex frown in return. He moved his hand slightly, tipping Clark’s chin up. “This doesn’t look like nothing.”
Another small shrug was his reply.
Lex felt a scowl wanting to darken his face, but years of mastering his expression kept his growing unease and ire hidden under a mask of calm pleasantness. Nevertheless, he couldn’t hide the concern threading his tone. “Clark. What’s wrong?”
Something tightened in Lex, his chest hurting, as Clark’s eyes grew wide and his eyes darted around like he was looking for something. His nostrils flared just the slightest, accompanied by a minute twitch of Clark’s body that just about anyone would miss other than Lex Luthor.
Lex Luthor. The man who’d made Clark Watching into a spectator’s sport, achieving a persistence and intensity worthy of a gold medal. He knew just about all of Clark’s mannerisms, expressions, and body language. Could accurately predict 99.3 percent of the time what mood Clark was in just by watching the boy, often being able to predict what he was about to say or do to a certain extent just by the circumstances, Clark’s current topic of conversation, and body language.
Wide, darting eyes. Slightly flared nostrils. Body twitch like the boy was unconsciously flinching from being hit. Guilt and nervousness quivering under Clark’s skin like a horse run too long and hard.
Next would come the tightening of the jaw, the small muscle in the jaw ticking just the tiniest bit, as if the kid was preparing himself to lie. Strengthening himself internally or maybe putting up walls so it wouldn’t hurt so much.
Clark really wasn’t a good liar.
Nor was he meant to lie. Lex often thought Clark hurt something in himself each time, some unseen wound growing deeper with each uttered falsehood. It made Lex wonder: if he could see Clark’s soul, would it be bleeding?
Lex placed his forefinger on top of Clark’s lips, sealing the lie in. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be a reason for Clark to bleed. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said quietly. “We’ll do whatever you want. Wherever you want. Say the word and we’re out of here.”
Clark’s lips twitched, but the teenager remained silent, eyes looking over Lex like Lex held all the answers in the world, only those eyes seemed to be frustrated because he didn’t understand the language. Lex stayed still, allowing Clark to see whatever he wanted, slightly distracted by the soft lips under his finger.
He lifted his finger, letting the fingertips of his hand move up instead. Ghosting along the high prominent slash of a cheekbone. Brief touch along a temple, pressing an errant strand back. Fingers itching to play in soft raven tresses, but moving back to slide along the soft expanse of cheek. Brief pause in the little hollow where he knew a shallow dimple would wink if a particular smile graced the magnificent features.
Face of an angel.
With a matching soul. Even if it did bleed red from having to live the imperfect life of mankind.
Lex looked down from fingers, noticing for the first time that his other hand was gripping Clark’s right arm in a bruising grip. He forced himself to loosen the grip, rubbing the spot softly with his thumb before dropping his hand. He looked back up, his right hand still caressing Clark’s cheek, and let that one drop, too, falling onto the head of the teddy bear Clark had clutched in a death grip.
Wounded eyes the color of river water, murky and deep. The same river water Lex drowned in, which was appropriate, because Lex could so easily drown in that gaze.
Not quite sure if it would mean the rebirth of his soul or its death. Suspected deep down that he really didn’t care which. Not when it came to those bewitching eyes and the face and soul of one who could only be a fallen angel. Lex wasn’t quite so sure why he rated a celestial intervention, or perhaps nod of favor, from a higher deity.
As an atheist, his overly romantic twists of fancy often disturbed him when it came to Clark Kent.
Besides, even if he were to suddenly find religion, he had to admit that Clark as an angel was preposterous. The whole package, inside and out, was like a specifically designed, personally-made-for-Alexander-Luthor trap of temptation all wrapped up in the ribbons of salvation. How one boy could be both was beyond Lex. And until today, he’d done a very successful job at avoiding that temptation.
Lex softly stroked the soft fur of the teddy bear, ignoring those wounded, sad eyes. “Why don’t we stop off at Grandpa Joe’s?”
Odd name, Lex had no idea if there really was a Grandpa Joe, but the restaurant had incredible steaks. Some protein would be good to balance out all the sugar Clark had ingested today. He could already hear the argument they’d have when he insisted that Clark have a steak instead of a hamburger, but he knew Clark would cave.
Clark usually did, unless the matter was life or death.
Lex sometimes wondered if that was why Lana went back to the Quarterback. Other than the whole local football-god-made-war-hero epic saga. Lana had issues---‘who didn’t?’ his mind pointed out---but she seemed to simultaneously want to be the one dictating the relationship, setting all the rules and parameters, yet also seemed to want an alpha male type who would make decisions and do the whole protect-and-guide-the-princess-with-a-strong-hand shtick.
Not to mention Clark’s reputation for being unreliable, flighty, and forgetful. The kid was infamous for disappearing all the time, dates and meetings forgotten easily and often, a lame excuse offered when asked. His schoolmates either seemed to be completely unaware of his existence, or they completely tolerated his existence as the school misfit and class goof. Chloe had said more than once in Lex’s presence that Clark was high maintenance, competing neck in neck with Lana for that dubious honor.
Lex had his own suspicions about those disappearances, not surprised that Clark hadn’t been able to keep an after school job when he was undependable. Places of business didn’t allow for the ‘showing up when I have time’ philosophy of work ethics. And he had to cede to Chloe that Clark was extremely high maintenance, even at the status of friend, but he felt that the friendship was well worth the occasional headache or night of serious drinking.
The friendship was worth anything. Even swallowing Clark’s lies. Clark’s distrust. Clark’s air of loneliness and pain. If Clark didn’t want anyone seeing those things, then Lex could pretend to be blind.
So he stroked the soft fur, the color of daffodils and bright as Clark’s smile, and said nothing. Saw nothing. And was shocked when he heard Clark’s pained whisper.
“I can’t.”
His eyes shot up, the ragged voice tearing at his equilibrium. Lex devoured Clark’s face, his gaze missing nothing. Mouth open slightly as the teenager breathed in and out with shallow, jerky breaths. Jaw loose, face open, like everything was shining from the inside out. Nothing hiding. No lies just lurking under the surface.
But it was the eyes that caused his pulse to pick up, heart thrumming in his ears. Spikes of fear and hope battling for dominance in those magnificent orbs. Trust fighting for life, blossoming slowly like a flower drinking in the sun.
Trust having to be earned? Bullshit. Trust was a leap of faith. Every. Fucking. Time. Because no matter how much you think you know a person, no matter what they say or what they do, you never really know them. Not really. People spent decades living with someone to find out they never knew them. Sentient beings were creatures of change, rarely ever remaining stagnant and static. Often layered, with hidden depths and dreams. Unknown.
Trusting someone was to trust someone blindly. Past. Present. Future. All the unknowns and all the doubts. Ignoring the baggage of the one you trust and the baggage you carried yourself.
Fuck Kierkegaard. God as a leap of faith? Try something closer to home that could slice a person’s insides to ribbon. Like trust. Which opened the doorways to friendship. And love.
The universe have mercy on the poor soul who found all three bound up in one person.
Lex shuddered to think that poor schmuck might be him.
As much as Lex hated being lied to, he had to admit there were two strong reasons he never pushed that hard for the truth. One, Clark’s friendship was more important, and he accepted the silent conditions it came with. Two, as long as Clark didn’t trust him, he didn’t fully trust Clark. Which left him with a backdoor to exit through when it came to both the friendship and the overwhelming love he felt for Clark.
He’d learned the hard way to always have a backdoor for when things collapsed. Nothing was permanent. Granted, he was only twenty-four going on twenty-five, but he’d yet to experience any one thing that was.
Well, okay, Lionel was so far, in a bastardly controlling father sort of way, but Lex was almost positive---and exceedingly grateful---that not even Lionel Luthor was immortal. Besides, there had been those couple of days he’d been tossed out of the castle and disowned during the Lucas debacle, which made his father almost impermanent.
So it was with a sense of impending doom mixed with a heady dose of exhilaration and triumph that Lex kept his gaze fixed on Clark’s eyes and face, the exquisite sight of pain and hope etched like tattoos on pretty-boy features.
It was almost disturbing how exquisite Clark looked when he was in pain. As if those angelic features were transcending their earthly beauty into something heavenly and pure.
With doom thundering a beat in the back of his head, hope burning bright and hot in his heart, Lex looked at Clark and asked, “You can’t what?”
Clark paused, indecision freezing his features, and after a silence that felt like a physical weight he spoke in that same ragged whisper. “I can’t. Go on the rides.”
Pupils dilated into huge wells of blackness, eyes wild and shadowed with something Lex might have called freedom, Clark continued. “I…too strong. My parents…when I was little…I broke a safety bar. The attendant thought it was due to poor maintenance checks and shut down the ride. Mom and Dad…I can’t. They said I can’t. Anymore.”
And with those broken phrases, fear pulsing in each pause, Lex felt something inside break free. Inside he felt like Clark’s eyes. Wild and free. Yet simultaneously, he could swear he heard the click as the doors of the cage wrapped around his heart closed and locked. Maybe even around his soul. If he still had one.
He reached up slowly, hand lifting off yellow fluff, and clasped the side of Clark’s neck. Felt the racing pulse under this thumb. Moved up just enough to stroke the same thumb along a smooth jaw. A random thought broke out, stupid voice wondering how often Clark shaved.
A louder voice drowning out his inner idiot and pointing out that Clark finally trusted him. Was finally ready to stop lying. To tell the truth. The truths that had been staring Lex in the face since he’d crashed into a fifteen-year-old on a bridge with the most amazing green eyes, an apology on his lips as he’d looked into the face of the boy he was about to kill.
Only he didn’t.
And Clark wasn’t lying.
And contrarily, suddenly it wasn’t important. All the hidden truths. Whether Lex found out all the answers to the questions that had been piling up one after another exponentially over the years. There was satisfaction in knowing that he would know in time, that curiosity would be quenched, knowledge would be shared. Trust would be exchanged and given.
Trust.
Lex stepped forward, not caring whether anyone walked in on them or not, ignored the basketball poking into one side and the teddy bear lining the other, and kissed Clark gently on the lips.
Softly. Chastely. Sweet and light as the summer rain.
Sweet and light as Clark Kent.
He moved his head back a few inches, close enough that he and Clark breathed the same air, their eyes pinned to each other as if there was no other object in the world worth looking at.
He wondered in the back of his mind when exactly he’d threaded his fingers into Clark’s hair, grip both gentle and strong.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
Clark shuddered, not saying a word. Only nodded as he met Lex gaze for gaze.
“You trust me.”
A statement. Not a question. Though Clark nodded anyway.
“I love you.”
Clark was trembling now, Lex’s declaration hanging in the air. Lex moved in even closer, Clark unconsciously spreading his legs so Lex could step into strong thighs. Pretty man-child sinking slightly as he collapsed into Lex, face buried into Lex’s neck, arms still clutching at the won toys. Clark leaned into Lex, pressing body to body as he trembled and seeking comfort.
Lex whispered into the nearest ear, “We don’t have to do this now.”
He pressed a soft kiss to the delicate-appearing shell and whispered again. “I’ll love you no matter what you tell me. I promise.”
Lex spent the next ten minutes stroking Clark’s hair, holding him close. No tears fell on his skin, only soft warm breaths. Lex reminded himself of the earlier tears, of what an emotional roller coaster the last twelve hours had been for the recent graduate.
Clark had always been sensitive. His feelings easily hurt, his emotions so much more stronger and passionate, as if he felt them with every molecule of his body.
Not that Clark was a crier. He’d only seen Clark cry twice before today. Once when Ryan died, when he’d still been a sixteen-year-old kid who’d never experienced the death of a loved one. Dived into Lex’s arms, as if it was his only refuge, tears raining down. Again when Lana broke up with him, telling Clark she was going to date Whitney. Meaning to be kind, but more cruel than not when she said Clark deserved someone who could love him. Listing all the reasons why they didn’t work, but Clark hearing why he wasn’t enough.
Lex walked into the aftermath of that one. Clark crumpled on the floor of his loft near his window, a ball of misery and noisy tears and harsh gasps. The sobs shaking him so hard and coming so fast, he’d had a hard time gasping for breath between the low raspy wails.
Crying as if his heart had broken. Like a little kid sobs when they’re completely shattered or utterly terrified.
Looking back, maybe it was both.
Lex didn’t need to be a psychologist to know that one of Clark’s deepest fears was that he would end up alone. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Lana had symbolized two things since Clark had been a child: normalcy and a connection. Thus the shiny bright future he’d dreamed of Princess Lana and White Knight Clark being together. Not alone.
The day Clark’s childhood dreams shattered, Lex had stood at the top of the stairs, frozen, uncertain what to do. Wanting to comfort but not knowing how, and yet wanting to leave as sharp points of discomfort and uncertainty poked at him. Had done neither, because Clark had somehow known, lifting his head to look at Lex with big eyes, tears streaming down, face red and splotchy, caught in that tug of war for breath between the wails and gasps. A tiny whimper had broken out as shame had flooded that face, and Lex had somehow been kneeling at Clark’s side in the next instant.
He wouldn’t discount teleportation, except he knew there was no way he was going to be gifted with an ability that cool. Healing really sucked, unless you were Wolverine and also had an adamantium skeleton and razor sharp retractable claws that screamed ‘Bad Ass’.
Teleportation questions aside, that day his arms had gone around Clark, perhaps a body memory from the hospital. Clark burying his head in Lex’s stomach as he cried and cried. Wept more tears than Lex knew a person had in them, and Lex just rocked back and forth, stroking Clark’s hair and back, speaking in a soft, sure voice on how it would get better. That everything would be all right.
Third time now. This morning. Still not sure what had happened, and Lex could only guess that it had to do with a perceived rejection. Perhaps the old fears of being alone or unwanted. Maybe new fears he was unaware of.
Not that he really knew the crying habits of Clark Kent. It wasn’t like Clark only cried when Lex made a timely appearance. It was possible Clark cried twice a week and Lex wouldn’t know it, but he was fairly confident with his assessment that Clark rarely cried. He envied the ease that Clark wept, unapologetic and unreservedly, the hand of Martha showing as the brunette showed an impressive level of comfort in his own display of grief and heartache.
And even if Clark wasn’t crying now, the kid was still sensitive. Still easily hurt. Heart too big for his own good. Upset at the spilling of secrets that Lex knew had been weighing Clark down ever since he’d first met him, that first lie uttered on the riverbank in the form of a question, the shape of misdirection. Lies that ate at Clark’s heart and soul.
Angels weren’t meant to lie, and if ever there was a creature closer to being an angel, it was Clark.
So Lex held him close, whispering nonsensical words into his ears, hands holding him tight. And despite Lex’s best efforts to shush and comfort, to tell Clark it could wait, Lex thinking privately that it would be best to wait for a time when Clark was less emotionally vulnerable than this day that seemed to be twisting Clark into knots, Clark whispered back. Voice low and shaky. A fairy tale of the best and worst kind.
Of a shower of rocks from outer space, silent sentinels to an alien child cocooned in a metal pod that was his bassinet. Of adoptive parents, hidden on the farm like a shameful secret throughout the elementary years, homeschooled so rules could be ingrained about never telling, fears established of how telling would lead to being taken away. So strength could be out of sight until it could be mastered.
Childhood playmate Pete, the Rosses friends since the Kent-Ross football years, was the boy’s only regular playmate and friend. Next came school, and shortly thereafter, Chloe. Occasionally Greg and a few other misfits who they played with on and off the playground. Friends who couldn’t know the truth because he could never tell or else someone would steal him away.
Not understanding why he was different. Until the whispers at school. Of teachers and classmates. About children and adults who were different. Sometimes relatives, the black sheep of the family. Sometimes rumors, of sighted peculiarities or gossip from the hospital on unusual patients. Sometimes rumors on disappearances or bizarre deaths. The only thing they all had in common was the hushed horror describing the people. All strange. Freaks.
His own freakishness growing throughout the years. Skin toughening through the years, strength and speed increasing incrementally along with his skin in a process so gradual it was barely noticed. Until a boy came hurling at him in a silver-blue Porsche, hitting him on a bridge. Saving the boy, shocked and stunned to be alive.
Finding out the truth, forcing the parents’ hands with blades and tattered flannel. Alien. Not human. Alone. Not one of the whispered ones that no one spoke about aloud. Never had he felt more like an orphan, the adopted kid, the outsider who didn’t belong.
The misfit who didn’t even fit in with the misfits.
It all spilled out in a whispered confession. Greg. Tina. Coach Walt. Mutant after mutant. Humans like Phelan and Nixon. Everyone died around him. If not because of the meteor shower, then it was the meteor rocks and mutations. Or it was corrupt people, normal humans, grasping for power. Their only commonality was Clark and death.
Blood so thick on his hands he dreamed of it at night. The smell and feel all around him, the taste sharp and metallic in his mouth. Or he dreamed of a graveyard full of names, Clark standing alone. Unchanging. Eternally the same. Alone.
Powers. Abilities. Fire. X-ray. The unexplained floating that happened that one time. Senses increasingly getting stronger. Strength and speed still accelerating. Red rocks and green rocks. Cruelty and pain. His only legacy, his silent companions that rained death on a town. That still brought death to the town.
Scared. Terrified of what he was becoming. Of the monster he might turn into.
Guilty. Friends that would leave if they found out. Possibly tell, and he would be taken away. More scared that they’d look at him in disgust or fear. Look at him like he was an animal. So many lies, years of deception, he didn’t know how to tell the truth anymore. Wasn’t even sure what the truth was.
Ashamed. Not human. Freak. Monster. Not even aware of what he is. Raised to be human, seeing himself as human, only to find out that he’d not. Hate, hate, hate his parents for the lies. For the biggest deception of all. Only to be flooded with guilt. A whole ocean of guilt.
They took him in. Like a stray. And now he was ungrateful. A bad son. A poor substitute for the child they’d prayed for and never received. Empty womb. Just Clark.
A fairy tale of the best and worst kind.
No happy endings. No clear morals. No definite path or quests to achieve. Just a lost boy who wasn’t even a real boy.
Except there was Lex.
And Clark whispered that Lex couldn’t leave him. That Lex couldn’t hate him, or be scared of him, or send him away. Otherwise he would die. Just curl up and die, die, die.
Pleaded with him not to leave. To not go away. Because Lex was everything. Lex was the only one who understood. Who knew what it was like. To be alone. To be different. To be unique and feel the coldness that word bestowed.
Throughout it all, Lex just held Clark. Silent. Not saying a word as years of secrets and pain spilled out. A deluge of boxed up emotions and fears, not even shared with his parents. Because his parents were the only ones he was allowed to talk to, and they were the ones he hid from the most. Hiding himself, trying to be the son they wanted. The son they deserved. Even if it meant being someone else.
And when Clark was done, they stood pressed together. Lex’s hands petting Clark’s hair and Clark’s nape. The small basketball and teddy bear long dropped, Clark’s arms wrapped around Lex’s waist in a tight hold. Lex stayed silent, and when Clark seemed finished pulling himself together, the fear either dissipated or hidden away, Lex tugged his head up. He pressed a kiss to a dry cheek, looked into clear eyes that hadn’t shed a tear, and calmly stated, “I still love you.”
Clark wept for the second time that day.
*****
END
(Followed by “Fourth of July Rhapsody”, 3rd in the Fourth of July Rebirth Series)
For anyone wondering: "FoJ Rhapsody" has been written. I'm not really sure how I feel about it, as I deviated from the singular POV that I used in the first two. I'll most likely get it posted next week, depending on how editing/proofing goes.